


Slowly

by ifitwasribald



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, F/M, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:51:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifitwasribald/pseuds/ifitwasribald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It didn’t happen all of a sudden.  If it did, maybe it would have been easier to avoid, to do things right.  But, most of the time, the way things fall apart is slowly.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt on the Avengers Kinkmeme (available at http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/7293.html?view=15492989#t15492989)
> 
> Protip: The Explicit rating is mostly for chapter 3, and some of chapter 2. The rest is more Mature or Teen.

It started innocently enough. Doesn’t everything? "Road to hell," and all that.

Tony had spent the night and the better part of the morning working on a new artificial neural network. His theory was sound--he knew it was, but it wouldn’t coalesce, and the math wasn’t working out, and the caffeine in his system was too much and not enough at the same time. He shoved the monitor out of his way with too much force for the arm-mount to absorb. The resulting crash was loud, but not as satisfying as he’d hoped.

Tony ordered Dummy to clean up the mess, and turned to pace to the other side of the lab so he wouldn’t have to watch the robot make matters worse.

“It sounds like _I’m_ up there,” a voice called from the staircase in the corner.

“Hey Bruce. Come help me smash up my lab for failure to cooperate.”

“Yeah, not really in a smashing mood,” Bruce replied, but did emerge from the stairwell. “But if you don’t mind my saying so, you’re failing to account for noise in the initial relays.”

“How do you even...?”

“J.A.R.V.I.S.”

“Right.” Tony rolled his eyes. “But anyway, there isn’t any noise in the initial relays. Or, well, not _no_ noise,” Tony allowed, “but none for all practical purposes. I’ve calculated the variances, and it couldn’t possibly be interfering with the secondary data flows.” He turned to another monitor and brought the basic schematics up.

“It’s not interfering, but it is preserved, and once you get into the quinary system it’s been magnified and starts to screw with your final outputs.”

“No, I accounted for the magnification--” Tony stopped and looked at the monitor again. Then at Bruce. Then back to the monitor. “OK, lucky guess.”

Bruce just smiled. “I don’t really know this area that well, but I was reading about a new theory for getting cleaner signals in positronic networks,” Bruce paused to bring up the paper on a third monitor. “It hasn’t been done in practice, but it’s worth a shot.”

Tony skimmed the information quickly, and gave a low whistle. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t see this before.”

“I did, but the abstract read like crap.”

“Well, it’s Jensen.” Bruce shrugged. “Jensen’s abstracts always read like crap--the woman can’t write her way out of a paper bag. But she’s very good at what she does.”

Tony reviewed the article for a moment more. “Yeah, OK, this is good. We can do this.”

And they did. It took several days, seventeen pots of coffee, eight take-out orders, and even a few hours of sleep, but in the end they had a working prototype that promised to be miles ahead of the last model.

Tony clapped Bruce on the back. “Come out with me--celebrate!”

Bruce looked at him incredulously. “I’ve slept six hours in the last four days. I’m going to celebrate in my bed.”

“Why, Dr. Banner!”

Bruce gave a little snort of a laugh. “By sleeping. Alone. Goodnight Tony.” His tone was dry, but his smile was warm, and delight still danced in his eyes as he descended to his own floor.

The staircase connecting their labs? Definitely worth it, Tony reflected.

He went back to the prototype, pondering a minor adjustment here or there, but mostly admiring its excellence. Exhilaration from the work they’d done over the last few days, and yes, probably the caffeine too, sang in his veins, and sleep was the furthest thing from his mind.

 

He swept into Pepper’s office an hour later, looking dapper in his favorite suit and bearing a suitably ridiculous floral arrangement. He grabbed her hand and swept her up in a kiss.

“I have left you alone to get work done for four whole days,” he told her. “Tonight we’re going dancing.”

Pepper flushed and kissed him back. “I can live with that.”

 

They danced under the glittering lights of an elegant ballroom, and later Tony sent the car away and they danced under streetlights as they made their way home.

They barely made it to the bedroom before he had a hand under her skirt, delighting in her moans. His hands and lips were everywhere, and then she guided him in and there was nothing in the world but fierce joy and the silken heat of her.

After, she draped over him and smiled. “You’re in a good mood.”

“I’m always in a good mood.”

“You’re really not.”

“I’m always in a good mood when I’ve just made a major contribution to science. Which is almost always.”

Pepper laughed. “According to you, you make a lot of major contributions to science, but you haven’t danced all night since I met you.” She kissed him. “Dr. Banner is really working out, isn’t he?”

“He can keep up with me. It’s useful.”

Pepper looked at him with knowing eyes, and he remembered a night when he’d tipsily regaled her with stories about his college days, when he’d watched so many brilliant minds bounce off one another. Had watched, but always from the outside. Drink had made him maudlin, and he’d confessed more to Pepper--about his youth in college, his awkward inexperience, his loneliness--than he’d intended. After that there had suddenly been a suspicious number of world-famous scientists stopping by Stark Industries, and alleged errors by Pepper’s staff had led to more obligations at major conferences than he’d been roped into in years. But he didn’t play well with others, and anyway most of those renowned minds couldn’t keep up with his. But Bruce’s could.

“It’s pretty great,” he admitted.

Pepper smiled, and kissed him again. “I’m so glad.”

 

After that Tony and Bruce collaborated often, and, even when they worked on separate projects, stopped by one another’s labs several times on any given day to exchange notes and suggestions. Bruce became a semi-regular fixture at Tony and Pepper’s penthouse, enjoying dinners and movies and the occasional game, sometimes with some or all of the other Avengers, but often just the three of them. Or, when Pepper was away or had other plans, just the two of them.

 

All still perfectly innocent, right? Keep reading. It gets worse. Because the thing is, it didn’t happen all of a sudden. If it did, maybe it would have been easier to avoid, to do things right. But, most of the time, the way things fall apart is slowly.


	2. Chapter 2

When Pepper was away and none of the other Avengers were around, Tony and Bruce rarely left the lab. On one such night, when Pepper was in Shanghai for some conference that Tony had gotten out of by being, well, himself, Tony and Bruce settled into a lab couch and a six-pack and ordered takeout. They were deep in a discussion of a recent paper on thermoregeneration when the food arrived, but Tony almost lost the thread of conversation when they started eating.

Bruce used chopsticks with a grace that Tony couldn’t help but admire. Tony was an adult and lived in the world, so of course he knew how to eat with chopsticks. They were a perfectly suitable utensil, and all, and Tony wasn’t clumsy with them by any means. But Bruce made it an art, and somehow Tony couldn’t tear his eyes from the perfectly ordinary sight of Bruce bringing his food to his lips.

“So, anyway," Bruce continued between bites, "I just think that demonstrates the real weakness in the Dostrovsky theory."

Tony nodded absently.

"And it clearly supports my argument for the non-transitive nature of the nucleic properties of--"

Tony found himself nodding at that as well, his eyes fixed on a morsel of tofu as it made its way to Bruce’s mouth. Then Tony shook his head and made himself attend to what Bruce was actually saying. “No, that’s what I’ve been saying. The Dostrovsky theory _is_ flawed, but that doesn’t mean you can just assume that--”

Bruce picked up his beer and tilted his head back as he drank, his adam’s apple bobbing in his gorgeous throat as he swallowed.

“--that you’re right,” Tony finished weakly.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at that. His eyes took on the vague, unfocused quality that he often had in the lab when he was running through a particularly complicated equation in his head. Then, slowly, he lifted his beer bottle back up to his lips and took another sip.

Tony swallowed hard and failed to rip his gaze away from Bruce’s mouth.

Bruce seemed to reach a conclusion, and his expression softened, losing the tight ache that Tony hadn’t even really known was there until it left. But a heartbeat later it was back.

Bruce stood and stretched in a caricature of a man getting ready to turn in at the end of a long day. “I should get some sleep.”

Tony didn’t answer, just watched as Bruce left the lab, headed down to his own floor. He glanced over at the nearest computer display. It was 8:30.

 

Bruce didn’t appear again until Pepper returned from Shanghai and invited everyone over for dinner. She’d prevailed upon Bruce to cook, as she often did. Pepper had been delighted to discover that Bruce enjoyed cooking, partly because she was an excellent hostess and cooking seemed to put him at his ease, but mostly, Tony knew, because having one of them in the kitchen cooking reminded her of home and family, and frankly none of the rest of them could cook for shit.

It was a wonder to Tony that Bruce could cook with the rest of them there without letting the Other Guy loose. Getting all the ingredients into the pot or wok or pan before anything that was remotely edible had been stolen by Tony or absently consumed by Steve was something of a contact sport. Natasha volunteered to help with the chopping, but there was something about the way she used a knife that was unnerving, even as applied to vegetables, and Coulson soon took over the task, much to everyone’s relief. Clint’s idea of helping was to add ingredients to bubbling pots from across the room, and while his accuracy was excellent as always, it wreaked havoc on the timing. Thor eventually took pity on Bruce and started up a dice game, which was an improvement, as it meant that most of the group was only in his way, instead of actively “participating.”

 

Dinner was nearly done by the time the others kicked Tony out of the dicing game for expounding on his statistical “proof” that Natasha had to be cheating. He wandered back to the stove and reached around Bruce to snag an inviting bit of eggplant from one of the pans. Bruce turned as he admonished Tony to just wait a few more minutes, but Tony was close enough that the motion brought them face to face, inches apart, and suddenly Bruce froze mid-sentence, barely breathing. Neither moved for one heartbeat, two. 

And then Thor made a particularly loud, if not particularly successful, joke, and Tony and Bruce turned towards the group to join in the general groaning.

Bruce declared the meal ready, and the room dissolved into a chaos of bowls and plates and serving spoons and grabbing hands, until everyone had resolved themselves into some semblance of a family sitting down to dinner. Steve said grace quietly while the others variously listened politely, fidgeted, or ate, but even Tony didn’t interrupt.

Wine flowed freely, and the eight of them remained at the table long after they were all, even Steve and Thor, thoroughly stuffed. They were on the seventh bottle when Clint launched into a convoluted story about a mission he’d been on years ago that had involved seducing a French diplomat’s daughter. “So there I was,” he continued, “with my tongue on her clit when, I shit you not, a class of twenty grade school kids barged in.”

“What were they doing on the roof?” Coulson asked. He had been enjoying the story notably less than the rest of the group.

“And more importantly, how did you not notice them coming?”

“I was too busy noticing Marie coming, Nat,” Clint answered with a grin.

Natasha groaned and rolled her eyes, and Tony pelted him with a few of the little hard candies Pepper had brought out after dinner.

“Besides, like you’ve never gotten caught in flagrante,” Clint pointed out.

“Not on a mission.”

Clint gave her a hard look.

“Not on a mission except on purpose,” Natasha amended.

“OK, this is a story we need to hear,” Tony demanded.

Natasha shrugged. “I was trying to get information out of a mid-level operative in Azerbaijan. Well, she had this seriously unhealthy thing going with her brother--never did anything, but always wanted to, that kind of deal. So I seduced them both and arranged for a photographer to happen by in the middle of it.”

“Just for our edification, what exactly were you in the middle of?” Tony asked, adding “ow!” when Pepper kicked him under the table.

“Use your imagination,” Natasha purred in a way that put one in mind of very sharp knives.

“The Lady Jane and I have also been caught in an indelicate position,” Thor offered. “Lady Darcy walked in while I had her pressed against the wall, and--”

“Thor,” Steve chided, flushing, “a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“We were not kissing at the time,” Thor told Steve, grinning.

“Not really my point.”

“Clint and Natasha shared their exploits,” Thor pointed out, with what, if he hadn’t been a very dignified demi-god, one might have described as a pout.

“Their... partners,” Steve began delicately, “aren’t people we know.” He didn’t seem entirely confident in the reasonableness of the distinction.

“I’ve got stories about people you don’t know,” Tony suggested. “There was this guy that I screwed around with after college. Terrible chemist but a decent engineer. Anyway, we were blitzed in this bar on 7th, and I was blowing him in the bathroom when the door opened and like six women walked in. Turns out it was the ladies room.” Tony grinned.

“And then you got thrown out on your ass,” Coulson finished for him.

“Hah, no. We didn’t even stop--we just had an audience for the big finish. An appreciative audience.”

“Mmmm,” Pepper hummed, appreciative herself. “I can see why.”

“This other time, there was this corporate mole trying to spy on Stark Industries. Damn, he was hung. So he was fucking me--”

“Wait, you knew he was a mole?” Clint asked, flummoxed.

“Well, yeah, but hung. So anyway, he was fucking me, and not without talent. So I was fucking going to town, and right after I come, he announces that he was recording the whole thing, like he could blackmail me with it. You should have seen his face when I told him that I’d hacked his program so only I had access to the recording. Actually, you could see his face. J.A.R.V.I.S.! Play that recording!”

“No,” Steve pled. “Really not necessary, Tony.”

“It’s a good face,” Pepper assured them all with a wicked grin.

 

Several hours later, most of the others had made their way to their own floors, or, in Coulson’s case, Clint’s floor. Bruce was the only guest who had yet to leave when Pepper yawned and declared that she was headed for bed as well.

Bruce and Tony sat together in companionable silence for a bit after that, enjoying the last of a very good bottle of chianti. 

“So...” Bruce said finally, “you’ve got some colorful stories.”

Tony gave a short laugh. “You must not spend much time in grocery store check-out lines.”

“Under the circumstances, no. But, uh, I thought the tabloids mostly covered your, um, female... conquests anyway.”

“Pepper doesn’t like those stories quite as much,” Tony smirked.

“She did seem to be enjoying the ones you were telling.”

“You have no idea how many times she’s seen that video.”

“I can see why. You were quite the tease with that earlier.” 

Tony raised an eyebrow, and Bruce flushed, like he’d only just heard what he’d said. Tony thought for a minute and then grinned again, eyes dancing. “J.A.R.V.I.S., play the recording of me with David Qin.”

The nearest screen sprang to life. A much younger Tony was on all fours, in an undershirt and nothing else. Another man was behind him, thrusting into Tony with slow, even strokes as Tony moaned and begged. The other man seemed to especially enjoy the begging, calling Tony filthy names that only seemed to add to Tony’s enjoyment. The younger Tony’s hand went to his cock, but the other man brushed it away and continued to pound into him.

Tony looked over at Bruce, whose gaze was fixed on the screen, his hands in his lap entirely failing to hide the erection straining against his pants.

“Want a hand?” Tony offered.

“What?”

“Two friends, a little innocent fun.” Tony’s tone was light. “It’ll be another hot story for Pepper to enjoy.”

Bruce’s eyes finally left the screen and met Tony’s. He held out for only a few seconds longer before nodding. “Yeah,” he answered, and the desire was obvious in his voice. “Please.”

Bruce’s cock was hot and hard. His skin was delicate, and the head of his cock was already smeared with precum. Bruce’s eyes fluttered closed as Tony’s hand wrapped around his cock and gave an experimental stroke. Bruce whined, and Tony increased the pace. The tone in Bruce’s voice went straight to Tony’s cock, and Tony pulled himself out of his pants with his free hand, stroking them both in tandem.

They’d both climaxed by the time the video ended.

“Oh, God,” Bruce muttered once he’d finally recovered himself. “Tony, that-- We shouldn’t have done that. Pepper...” Bruce let out a long breath and rubbed his forehead with one hand.

“I’ll tell her in the morning. Like I said, she’ll think it’s hot. Don’t worry about it.”

Bruce nodded, but he looked unconvinced. “It’s late,” he said by way of explanation, and headed for the elevators.

 

Tony woke up the next morning with only slightly more than his usual hangover. Pepper had already left for some board meeting or other, so he poured himself a cup of coffee and went straight to the lab.

He worked quietly on a few ongoing projects. He found himself periodically eying the stairwell to Bruce’s lab, but Bruce himself never emerged.

 

It was probably seven or eight when J.A.R.V.I.S. gave the little beep that was the A.I.’s version of a discrete cough. “Ms. Potts has returned to the penthouse. Reminder that you had intended to convey information regarding last night’s activities to her.”

“Uh, right. Yeah.” Tony spent another few minutes finishing up, and then washed his hands and headed to the living quarters.

“Tony!” Pepper greeted him with a kiss. “How was your day?”

“It was, uh, fine.”

“Did you and Bruce figure out anything fascinating?”

And the truth, that Bruce hadn’t set foot in the lab, probably because he felt awkward about the prior night’s handjob, felt entirely too complicated for the light tone of her question. It was so much easier to give an answer in kind. “Six impossible things before breakfast. Not that I really eat breakfast....”

“Well, in case you decide to start,” she answered, beaming, “I closed the Johnson deal, so you’ll have the cash for several million waffles.”

Tony grinned and hugged her, kissed her soundly. He had only a vague idea what she was talking about, but she was happy and that was good enough for him.

They enjoyed a candlelit dinner, proceeding to candlelit kissing, followed by other activities in the dark. It really wasn’t until they lay side by side in bed, sated and exhausted, that Tony even remembered that he had something to tell her. But by then, Pepper’s breathing had smoothed into the slow rhythms of sleep, and he couldn’t bring himself to wake her.

 

In spite of increasingly frequent reminders from J.A.R.V.I.S., the opportune moment didn’t arrive the next morning, or the evening after that. And neither did Bruce appear in Tony’s lab.

All told, the staircase to Bruce’s lab went unused for three days before Tony broke down and told J.A.R.V.I.S. to invite Bruce up. Two more days passed before Tony realized that Bruce hadn’t ignored the invitation, but rather, hadn’t received it. Tony growled at J.A.R.V.I.S. and resorted to scrawling “Mr. Banner—Come here—I want to see you" on a piece of paper, folding it into an airplane, and sending it flying down the stairs to Banner’s lab.

A few minutes later, Banner appeared, though he didn’t take more than a step past the top stair. “Regressing technologically, are we?”

“I hate phones.”

“Of course you do.”

They both stood for a moment, the silence building between them. “So...” Bruce began tentatively, “what’s up?”

Tony cast around his lab for an answer. His eyes lit on a half-disassembled device, and he pointed. “Take a look at that. I’m not sure what went wrong.”

Bruce did as asked, and poked and prodded the thing for a few minutes. He didn’t raise his eyes from the device when he spoke. “So did Pepper think it was... hot?”

Tony didn’t answer for a moment, and Bruce looked up. “Not exactly.”

Bruce looked back down and fiddled with some wires. His expression was resigned. Or maybe ashamed. “Right. So she’s angry?”

“...not exactly.”

“You... didn’t tell her.”

Tony studied his feet, rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “It kind of... didn’t come up.”

Bruce shook his head. “Look, it was... I mean... it won’t happen again. I shouldn’t have.... I’m sorry.” The last was delivered in a husky whisper that made Tony’s chest hurt, and without quite knowing how it happened, he was suddenly close to Bruce--too close--and his hand was on Bruce’s upper arm in a gesture that he never intended.

Bruce responded without thinking, leaning towards Tony until their lips grazed against one another.

Suddenly, Bruce pulled away like he’d received an electric shock. He took a breath. “Maybe...” he began tentatively. He caught himself, and started over. “I should probably just go.”

Tony didn’t answer.

“If I may suggest, Dr. Banner’s services would be highly valued in the northern lowland region of Cameroon due to a recent cholera outbreak. I have taken the liberty of clearing a flight plan to leave within the hour.”

“J.A.R.V.I.S.!”

“It’s OK. He isn’t wrong.” Bruce turned and headed to the staircase. He stopped, one hand on the rail, and turned back to Tony. “The last few months, they’ve been--” he began, his voice thick. His eyes glittered, and Tony thought he looked about as weary as it was possible for a human being to look. “--great,” Bruce finished, his voice a little higher than it should be. He turned his head abruptly.

Tony watched a drop of water glitter on its fall to the top step.


	3. Chapter 3

Did I say that things fall apart slowly? Well, they do. All the way up until the dam breaks, and suddenly they’re falling apart faster than you could have imagined.

Tony crossed the room in four steps and pulled Bruce back up to the top of the staircase, wrapping his hands on either side of Bruce’s face and pulling him in for a kiss. Bruce seemed simply shocked for a moment, and then melted into the embrace.

“You are not going anywhere, Bruce. This is where you belong,” Tony told him seriously when they finally broke apart. “Whatever I did, whatever happens, you have a home here.” His took a beat, and suddenly his confident voice broke. “Please.”

Bruce didn’t answer, just looked up at Tony with a pinched look on his face and anguish in his eyes. For a moment Tony was sure that Bruce was going to be the better man, and turn, and leave Tony with his his guilt and his weakness and his fabulous home and amazing girlfriend, neither of which, he now knew for an absolute fact, he deserved.

Except that instead of turning, Bruce kissed him back, more fiercely than before, lips and tongue and teeth pressing hard against him. Bruce pivoted and Tony found himself against a wall, with Bruce’s hands under his shirt, skin to skin. Tony could feel Bruce’s erection pressing against his own, and rolled his hips, producing a friction that made both men groan. 

Tony had just enough brain power left to think that there was still time, that he could stop before it was really and truly too late. And he could have made a hundred and one excuses for why he didn’t, but the truth was simple: he knew that this was wrong, was unfair to Pepper and to Bruce too, but he wanted it too much to care.

Tony wrapped one arm around Bruce, hand resting at the back of Bruce’s neck, pulling him forward into another kiss. Bruce’s hands moved frantically, one gliding over Tony’s abs and sides and back as if desperate to touch him everywhere, the other working at the front of his pants.

Tony began unbuttoning the front of Bruce’s shirt, but the buttons were so small, and he had better things to do. He grabbed Bruce by both shoulders and spun the two of them to put Bruce’s back against the wall, and then grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands and tore. Buttons flew everywhere as Tony bent down to take one of Bruce’s nipples between his lips, sucking and tonguing and scraping it.

“Jesus, Tony,” Bruce’s tone was unquestionably a whine, and also unquestionably incredibly hot. “Umf, ah, oh holy-- Oh, god, Tony, you-- I want to... fuck you. I want to fuck you like that guy did. Couldn’t get it out of my head. I want to--oh!” Tony had switched to the other nipple, and the rest of the statement came out in a whine. “--Wanna take you apart.”

Tony moaned into Bruce’s chest before standing straight again. “Yes. That. Definitely do that,” he told Bruce, before pulling away to search desperately through the lab.

Bruce looked confused for a moment, before Tony found the right drawer and triumphantly held up a bottle of lube and a condom.

And if the tone of Tony’s voice and his hurried scavenger hunt hadn’t been enough to convince Bruce of Tony’s wholehearted support of Bruce’s proposal, the frantic way that he wriggled out of his own pants would have.

Tony returned to Bruce and brought their lips together again, but this time he was reaching around himself with his free hand, dipping one lubed finger in and out of his hole.

Bruce moaned into the kiss, then moved to kiss down Tony’s jaw and along his neck. He grabbed Tony’s bare ass with both hands and held his firm cheeks apart as Tony pistoned one finger and then two inside himself.

Tony had barely gotten to three when he pulled out, thrust the condom into Bruce’s hand, and gasped out “couch, now.”

Tony broke away and crossed the lab to the couch in one corner, bent over one arm and supported himself with his elbows on the cushion. He looked over his shoulder to see Bruce staring, the condon unwrapped but his hands still as his dark eyes swept over Tony’s body, his ass in the air and his body practically vibrating with need.

Tony gave Bruce a beseeching look, and when it didn’t seem that the other man was planning to move any time soon, reached around to fuck himself with his fingers again. “Bruce, fuck me. Please. You made a promise, and--” His tone had been playful, teasing, but suddenly ceased.

Apparently the significance dawned on Bruce too, because they both froze for a moment. 

But, gods forgive them, only a moment. 

“Please,” Tony said again.

And that was apparently enough, because seconds later Bruce’s cock was encased in latex and pressed against Tony’s inviting opening.

Tony pressed back, trying to get Bruce’s thick cock inside him, and Bruce moaned and thrust forward, the head entering easily to the soundtrack of Tony’s staccato moans. “More. Oh more more more Bruce more.”

Bruce pressed deeper, but slowly, and Tony let out a little whine.

“Want to-- feel it. Feel you.” 

And desperately as Tony wanted more, he had to admit that this too was amazing. Bruce wasn’t long, but he was thick, and the stretch burned in the best possible way. Bruce’s hands were firm on his hips, and his insistence on doing it his way was hotter than it was frustrating.

None of which stopped Tony from providing a litany of curses and suggestions, most of which boiled down to “fuck me right goddamn now.”

Bruce finally bottomed out, and Tony writhed desperately on his cock. “You--” Bruce started, but apparently he couldn’t find the words, and settled instead for drawing back and plunging into Tony again, hard and fast this time.

This produced a grateful moan from Tony, who returned to his begging when Bruce paused again with his cock sheathed all the way to his balls inside of Tony.

“Damn, Bruce, ohgod, fuck me, oh, fuckmeplease.” Bruce gave another long, hard thrust, and this time Tony could feel Bruce’s balls slap against his ass.

“Need you, ohgod, please.” Bruce thrust again, paused again.

Tony whined. “Please,” thrust, “oh please,” thrust, “fuck me Bruce ohBruce fuck me please.” Bruce thrust again and Tony finally caught on to the pattern. “Please please pleasepleaseplease.”

Bruce fucked him in earnest then, groaning in time to Tony’s entreaties. It was hard and fast and Tony wasn’t sure he’d ever been fucked like this in his life. He felt his balls tighten and his words turned to meaningless noise.

Bruce’s strokes lost rhythm, took on a desperate, erratic quality as he ploughed into Tony. He reached around and clumsily grabbed Tony’s cock, and it wasn’t really in time with anything else, but it was enough, and Tony tipped over the edge and came, long strokes of cum painting the side of the couch.

Bruce gave a long moan and pulsed inside Tony, still thrusting as he spent himself, until finally he just leaned against him.

It was a few minutes before they recovered their breath. Bruce pulled out and walked away for a moment, disposing of the condom, while Tony maneuvered himself to a sitting position on the couch. Bruce joined him there, and they sat together, exhausted and silent, as reality returned.

 

"Shit."

"Yeah," Bruce agreed. "Shit."

"That was--" Tony began.

"A mistake," Bruce offered.

"--amazing." Tony corrected, but then cast his eyes downward. "A mistake," he agreed. "But... an amazing one."

Bruce just nodded.

After a few long minutes of silence, Tony shook his head.

"OK, yeah, it was kind of a mistake. But, big picture, you didn’t wreck Harlem, and I didn’t invent something that’s going to kill a bunch of innocent people. In the grand scheme of things...”

Bruce laughed, bitterly. “We get points for sticking with sins that don’t have body counts?”

Tony shrugged, and managed to almost sound like he believed it when he answered. “Maybe we do.”

"So what do we do now?"

"I don't know."

 

In the end, what they did was go about their business. They worked in their labs, and sometimes in each others' labs. They went out on Avengers missions and hung out with Pepper and with the others in the penthouse. They lived their lives. What else could they do?

They did mean well, most of the time at least. They slept together for one final time three days later in Bruce’s bedroom.

But then there was another final time four days after that in the lab. Their seriously-this-time last time was the next day in Bruce’s kitchen.

After that there were no more last times.

And Pepper? The thing is, other than the obvious, things with Pepper were great. It would probably have been easier if they hadn't been. But Pepper was, for the most part, still delighted by the change in Tony. His boyish enthusiasm for the projects he shared with Bruce was infectious, and there was more than one night when Tony had swept into her office, intent on dancing the night away.

If, once in awhile, Pepper's expression darkened with suspicion at some joke he shared with Bruce, some look that lingered too long, well, the shadows on her face always cleared, and in time her smile shone bright as the sun again.

And if Bruce's eyes remained downcast through his flirtatious banter with Pepper, well, the man had known what he was getting into.

And look, Tony had a capacity for denial about a mile wide, but even he knew what was wrong with this picture. Even he knew that, at the very least, a choice had to be made. But in the rare dark nights that he spent alone, he could admit to himself that he was coward enough to wait, and hope that somebody else would make it for him.

 

So it was that when Natasha cornered him, nine days after the seriously-this-time final time that hadn’t been, he wasn’t as upset as he might have been.

He’d just stepped out of the elevator to the ground floor when he heard her voice.

“Stark.”

And Tony definitely did not jump at that. If she says any different he’ll deny it to the day he dies.

She narrowed the distance between them to a mere foot, and spoke quietly. “I know what you and Banner are doing.”

Tony started to suggest that she must mean some innocent project in the lab or something, but thought better of it and looked away.

“And if I know,” she continued, “it’s only going to be a few weeks before someone else catches on. So help me, Stark, Pepper’s a friend.”

Tony stared at the floor tiles between his feet for a moment before producing a facsimile of his usual smirk. “So, is this the part where you threaten to kill me in my sleep?”

Natasha shook her head sadly. “No. It’s the part where I tell you that you’re going to break her heart, and you need to do something about it.”

Tony winced. “I know.”

 

It took him three more days to screw his courage to the sticking place (and what the hell kind of saying was that anyway?). And even then it was a poor sort of courage.

"J.A.R.V.I.S.," he told the AI, not lifting his head from the lab table it was resting on, "get me an appointment to talk to Pepper alone."

"What shall I tell her it concerns?"

"Just... tell her we need to talk."

"Very good, sir. Ms. Potts is available in forty-three minutes."

Tony didn't move. He just sat there, head down, eyes fixed on the staircase.

Thirty-nine minutes later, he rose. "J.A.R.V.I.S., tell Dr. Banner... I don't know. Just... tell him I have an appointment with Pepper."

"Yes sir."

 

"Well, this isn't going to be good, is it?" Pepper asked as Tony entered her office.

“Pepper,” he started, and his voice almost broke as he looked at her.

She studied his face, waiting for him to continue. When he didn't, she frowned and turned away. After a long moment she turned back and pursed her lips, eyes glistening and fixed on some spot above him. “Aren't you even going to say it?” She gave a frustrated little laugh. “Of course not. It's Bruce, isn't it? You and Bruce.”

And even then, when all he needed to tell the truth was a single syllable, it still didn’t come easily to his lips. “Yeah,” he finally managed.

“So--what?” Pepper took a deep breath. “What does it... mean?”

“I don’t know, Pep.” He cupped one side of her face in his hand. “I love you.”

Pepper made a sad little sound at that and brushed his hand away. “And Bruce? Is it just sex?” She stopped, clearly still thinking this through, and Tony wasn’t in a hurry to reply. “If it is, does he know that it is? Because, Tony--” the warning note in her voice called to mind any number of her admonishments against his various reckless plans. It was so familiar that he couldn’t believe there’d ever been a time when she hadn’t been the voice in his ear, gently keeping him in line in all the ways that he’d never tell her he loved. He could believe even less that there would ever be a time when she wasn’t there to chide him for his ridiculous behavior, to pull him back from the edge.

For one long, pained moment he wished that he could take everything back, undo everything he’d done and just go back to the way things had been. Or, at the very least, meet Pepper’s eyes and tell her that it really had just been sex. 

“It’s not.”

Pepper nodded tightly at that.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know...”

“You never do, do you Tony? You just-- you just glide through life and you do what you like and some way or other things just fall into your lap.” The anger faded from her voice as if she were just too tired to sustain it. “And then something breaks and you stand there like you never expected it.” She brought a hand to his cheek, mirroring his earlier gesture. 

He wanted to correct her, because it wasn’t true. What he’d never expected was that she’d love him so much in the first place. Or that Bruce would, either. But it was too late for that too, because she was still talking, telling him it was over.

“I’m sorry.” She pulled her hand back from his face and wiped her eyes. “No, I’m not. I love you, Tony, but this can’t be how my life is.”

He wanted to answer, but couldn’t for the life of him think of a damn thing to say. She waited for a moment and then gave up and left the room at a pace just shy of a run.

Tony stood there, alone in Pepper's office, unsure of what to do.

“Shit,” was all he could think to say.


	4. Chapter 4

In the days that followed, Tony felt as if his skin didn’t quite fit, like his clothes rubbed him raw with every move. He stayed in the lab for the most part while Pepper moved her things into a floor of her own. As C.E.O. of Stark Industries she was entitled to one, and Tony thought she liked the symbolism--it said she was sticking with the company, with her job, in spite of everything. In spite of him.

With Pepper’s things gone, the penthouse felt odd, echoing, even though the physical space they’d taken up had been negligible. So even once she’d finished moving out, Tony spent most of the time in his lab, or in Bruce’s.

Things with Bruce weren’t quite as they had been. There was relief, to be sure, but it was overshadowed by Pepper’s sorrow, and by Tony’s too. They threw themselves into research, new projects and theories and tests. It wasn’t exhilarating, but it was solid, and, for the most part, comfortable.

And time probably doesn’t heal all wounds, but this kind? Yeah, time works on them.

 

They were in the middle of a tedious but critical series of tests when Tony left the lab to get them both enough caffeine to sustain them through the rest of the experiment.

When he reached the kitchen, Tony was surprised to find Steve sitting at the counter in front of an empty cup of coffee. He entered tentatively, watching Steve with a wary eye. Steve usually preferred coffee from the twenty dollar machine in his own kitchen, or, horror of horrors, from a nearby diner. He mostly only visited the penthouse when the others were around, and Tony hadn’t had everyone over since before things ended with Pepper.

“Pepper told me... what happened,” Steve said quietly. “I don’t want to tell you your business, Tony, but I need to know you’ve thought this through. After what you-- what happened with Pepper...” he hesitated, and then plunged ahead. “Do you really think that you and Bruce are a good idea?”

“Well, what happened with Pepper actually had a lot to do with me and Bruce. And I don’t think it’s going to be a problem , because I can’t exactly cheat on Bruce _with_ Bruce. Well, unless some kind of duplication machine were involved...”

Steve waited patiently for Tony to finish. He looked at the other man seriously. “I’m sorry, Tony, because I know at the end of the day you’re a good man. But you’re not... the most stable influence for Bruce.”

“Spit it out, Rogers. If you think I’m going to piss Bruce off and he’s going to destroy midtown, just say it.”

“It’s a big risk to take.”

“Bruce has it under control. He’s not going to lose it over little old me.”

Steve sighed. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

 

When Tony finally returned to the lab, lattes in hand, Bruce seemed preoccupied. Something had apparently gone wrong with two trials while Tony had been out, and Bruce was in the process of starting them over again. They worked steadily, but as the day wore on, Tony found himself stopping the experiment several times to fix odd mistakes and miscalculations.

That night Bruce kissed him tenderly, and when they had sex it felt, for the first time, like “making love.” It was slow and soft and achingly sweet, and nothing like what Tony usually prefered, but better than he could have imagined.

In the morning, Bruce was gone.

 

At first, Tony didn’t think anything of it. He wasn’t an early riser, and Bruce was. But then Bruce wasn’t in the lab, or in the kitchen, or in his apartment.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., where is Bruce?”

“Dr. Banner is currently at approximately 28 degrees, 30 minutes north latitude by 53 degrees, 11 minutes west longitude.”

“And what,” Tony’s voice was cold, “is Bruce doing in the middle of the Atlantic?”

“Dr. Banner is en route to Maroua, Cameroon.”

“J.A.R.V.I.S., I am taking an axe to your central processor.”

“As you are aware, I have several auxiliary processors in geographically disparate locations.”

Tony made a mental note to find and overwrite the portion of J.A.R.V.I.S.’s programming that allowed him to sound smug. “ _Why_ is Bruce going to Cameroon?”

 

“Dr. Banner did not supply that information when he requested transportation. He did request that I inform you that he overheard your conversation with Captain Rogers, and that--”

“Just play the voice record.”

“Yes sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. answered, and suddenly the voice emanating from J.A.R.V.I.S.’s speakers was Bruce’s.

“Tell Tony that I heard, in the kitchen with Steve. Tell him Steve’s right. Not-- it isn’t him, it’s me." There was a pause. "I don’t believe I just said that. Just tell him-- tell him I’m sorry I couldn’t say this to his face, and that I have to go, and that it’s-- that it’s OK, and he shouldn’t come after me. And that I...” There was another, longer silence. “Nevermind.”

“Dr. Banner did not record any subsequent messages.”

“Call the plane.”

“Dr. Banner requested that incoming calls to the plane be blocked. Do you wish to override?”

The question stumped Tony for a while. Eventually, he answered.

“No. Just... erase all records of Bruce’s flight and create a subroutine to intercept any outside surveillance on Dr. Banner. _Including_ by S.H.I.E.L.D. Especially by S.H.I.E.L.D. And order three cases of scotch and have them shipped directly to the lab.”

 

And that was the beginning of what was not one of Tony’s better weeks.

The week after that--also not a personal best.

It was towards the end of the second week that Clint camped out on the other side of the door to the lab for long enough that Tony finally let him in.

“Make it snappy. I have important drinking to do.”

“I could help you out with that,” Clint offered, and after a moment’s hesitation Tony passed him a bottle. Clint hopped up onto a lab table next to Tony.

“So who sent you?”

“Who didn’t? You’ve been ignoring everyone on the team. And frankly, we’re all getting sick of Fury bitching us out over it.”

“Yeah, well. Fury’s your problem. And I’m apparently your problem too. Sucks to be you. How’d you wind up with the short straw?”

“I was voted least likely to piss you off. Plus, you always have the best booze,” Clint added, taking a swig.

“Well, that is true.”

“So where’s Banner?”

“He made his choice. He’s gone.”

“Yeah, we kind of got that part. The question was where.”

“Is this you asking or S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

Clint didn’t answer that.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t get to know where Bruce is.”

Clint nodded, as if to say that he understood. “So are we at least getting Iron Man back at some point?”

Tony took a swig of scotch. “At some point.”

“Good. Because with you and Bruce down, we’ve been getting kind of creamed. I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

Tony had the grace to look ashamed. “Give me another night.”

“Fair enough. Are we getting Tony Stark back too? ‘Cause I kind of miss that guy. The last few group dinners were _boring_.”

Tony actually cracked a grin at that. “Yeah.”

Clint looked down. “Uh, fair warning though--I think Cap’s getting a little sweet on Pepper, and she doesn’t seem averse to the idea. Just figured you’d want to know in advance.”

And Tony knew that he was spectacularly without any right to be hurt about that. As if that made the slightest bit of difference. 

They drank together in silence for a little while.

“We miss him too,” Clint offered.

Tony nodded, shortly, and took another swig of his scotch. Clint stood and gave a jaunty little tilt of his bottle that was somewhere between a toast and a salute. As he walked out the lab door, mostly full bottle still in hand, Tony muttered “Cameroon. He’s in Cameroon. But that’s for your ears only.”

 

Reentry into the world wasn’t as smooth as could have been hoped. But he did respond the next time the Avengers were needed, and he wasn’t even too drunk to be useful. A new project in the lab sparked some real interest, which was a relief and a distraction and an open wound all in one. In spite of the memories everywhere, he worked on it avidly until he was disappointed to find he’d finished it, and didn’t have anything else that he particularly wanted to work on.

Three weeks passed more or less like that. 

 

Tony was in the lab, tinkering with this and that without really accomplishing anything, when J.A.R.V.I.S. pinged for his attention. “Sir, I recommend that you turn your attention to viewscreen 2.” It was four in the afternoon, so Tony was only a little drunk, and didn’t even sway on his feet as he made his way over to the indicated screen.

A video was playing, grainy surveillance footage of a dark room. Tony couldn’t make anything out until he heard a familiar voice. “Bruce.”

A shadow moved closer to the camera at that, resolving into a familiar face.

Bruce’s lips were set in a thin line, his expression still. “Natasha,” he greeted her without warmth, eyes fixed somewhere above the camera.

“What the--” Tony demanded.

“Agent Romanov suggested that you view a feed of her current activities.”

On the screen, a hand appeared, setting down a weapon, and then moved back out of view. “This isn’t like the last time, Bruce.”

Bruce’s expression did not soften.

“I’m here on my own. No orders, no backup. I just want to talk.”

She paused, but Bruce still didn’t reply.

“I just think... that you should come back.”

Bruce laughed at that, harshly. “Oh do you. Well, team leader thinks I’m a liability.”

“Yeah, well, who isn’t?” Natasha’s own bitterness colored her voice. “Steve’s a good guy, but he’s young. He still thinks people can do right every minute.”

“He’s young, but he wasn’t wrong. What I had with Tony--” Bruce paused to get his voice under control, and half a world away a beaker shattered against the wall of Tony’s lab. “It was selfish. It was selfish before... and it was selfish after. It’s too big a risk just to be... happy.” The last word carried loathing, all turned inward.

“Life is risk.”

“Mine can’t be.”

“It’s not a choice, it’s a fact. Is there a risk that Tony will pull some bullshit and you’ll lose it? Yeah. But tell me this: is there a risk that playing the martyr will wear you down until you break?”

Bruce didn’t answer.

“Life is risk.” Natasha repeated. “So do your damned living where there are people who have your back.”

Bruce didn’t answer that either, and apparently Natasha wasn’t inclined to wait. Her hand appeared again, picked up her gun, and the camera swung around. Just before J.A.R.V.I.S. ended the transmission, Natasha spoke again, this time in a mutter. “Don’t fuck this up, Stark.”

In the lab, Tony stood quietly for a long time, listening for the chime of an incoming call.

It didn't come.

Tony picked up a bottle of scotch, and looked at it. Opened it, brought it up to his lips. Then pulled it away and sighed. "Screw it," he muttered. "J.A.R.V.I.S., clear a flight plan. You know the one."

"Yes sir."

 

In the end it didn't really take that long to find the shabby little house where Bruce was staying. He was out when Tony arrived, but it was short work for Tony to break in and make himself comfortable. The sun set as he waited, but the glow of his arc reactor through his thin shirt was more light than he needed anyway.

Finally, about an hour after full dark, Bruce arrived.

"So are you coming home or what?"

Bruce just stood there, watching Tony, desire and anxiety warring on his face.

"’Cause I’ve got a project I need your help with.”

“And what is that?” Bruce’s tone was dry, but Tony thought he saw a spark of interest. 

“It’s my heart,” Tony announced, his eyes wide with mock-sincerity.

Bruce rolled his eyes. “You really came halfway around the world to make jokes?”

“No, really, it’s my heart. Well, the arc reactor. I’m still worried about some of the calibration matrix...”

“You’ve been fiddling with that since before I met you.”

“But I still haven’t gotten it right. Clearly what I’m lacking is your own personal brand of genius. A lesser brand than mine, admittedly...”

“You’re... not that good at this, are you?”

“OK, new tactic.” Tony crossed the room and wrapped an arm around Bruce, kissing him deeply. “Come home with me. Please.”

Several minutes later they moved apart. Tony examined Bruce’s face, his own eyebrows slightly raised in earnest inquiry.

“Yeah. I’d like that,” Bruce agreed, and brought their lips together again.


End file.
